Excerpt from the Book

On the first day of every month, Saxes, the jazz restaurant that
Hager visited quite often for dinner, played a tribute to those jazzsingers
who had passed on. It was March 1st, and it was Billie Holiday’s
turn.

Hager sipped on his bourbon while appreciating that spirited
voice on the recording as he waited for his meal to come. He noticed
at the bar, there were a few lonely souls that seemed to be drowning
their sorrows to the soulful music of Billie. He looked around and
wasn’t surprise that only several tables had diners seated, waiting for
their meals. Apparently, it was still a bit too early for the dinner
crowd. He dined early these days, so he could have ample time to
spend with his friend in the hospital.

Midway through his meal the phone on his hip rang. Hager saw
that it was the oncologist calling, and he had a feeling it was going to
be bad news.

“When you brought the general to me I explained to you then,
that with metastatic disease of the pancreas, such as his, the average
survival rate is just over six months. As you know, despite our best
efforts of slowing it down, Westwood’s cancer has been aggressively
progressing. Late this morning his condition worsened, and he continues
to deteriorate on the hour. I’m sorry Colonel; I don’t think he
will make it through the night.”

He knew his friend was deathly ill, but hearing it put that
way…fuck!

Hager quickly rose from his seat and tossed a Benjamin on the
table to cover his meal and tip and rushed out the restaurant.

“Dammit General, please…don’t die on me, not tonight!”

That was his direct, telepathic plea to his friend as he slid his muscular
frame inside his black Mercedes S550 Benz. He sped off to
Alpine General, the prestigious cancer center in the area, where Major
General James Westwood, the unyielding force that he had fashioned
his life after, was dying.

Inside the hospital elevator, Hager stood back and supported his
long, lean, muscular frame against the wall, staring at the door. He
was hoping the doctor was wrong. He was praying for a fucking miracle
to happen, but realistically, he knew that tonight he would most
likely lose that strong hand.

When the elevator doors opened, Hager stepped out and headed
directly toward Westwood’s room. His long, sturdy legs took him pass
the nurse’s station where the nurses did their gathering and he nodded
his head at them. Since he came daily to visit with the general he
knew that they each waited excitedly for his arrival. Tonight was no
different. He was fully aware of the flirtatious glances that were being
thrown his way.

As he walked by the group, he glanced at one particular nurse.
Days ago, his keen eye had spotted that cutie in the cluster. Once this
ordeal was over, he knew he would need comforting in the worst fucking
way. He would go to that sweet little morsel, and in his irresistible
charming style, solicit her kindness to help him alleviate his suffering.
If she saw fit to help ease his pain, her act of compassion would be
generously repaid by him overwhelmingly dazzling her with his sensual
skills in bed.

When he finally walked into Westwood’s room, he fully understood
what the doctor had implied. Hager was shocked at how the
general’s condition had declined so rapidly just from the previous
day.

Major General Westwood, a highly decorated general, was once a
remarkably intelligent and charismatic leader of the US Marine Corps.
Now, he was reduced to this ghastly sight. What a horrid death for such
an extraordinary man, he thought angrily.

The very sight of the general’s on-going failure caused Hager to be
flooded with sad memories of the forgotten role he once had to console
those soldiers who had been hurt and maimed while serving
their country. Hager had been chosen because he had a flair for touching
those wounded souls. He gave his comrades a reason why they
should be proud of their lost.

During that time, his cold heart had become even icier. How else
could he endure the pain of those anguished family members, who would collapse into his arms when they learned that their loved ones
had been tragically injured or lost?

When he moved up the ranks, he was no longer weighed down
with that grim task, but his indelible disdain for hospitals would be
eternally present. Although that lingering contempt he had for hospitals
still embraced him, Hager drew his strength from Westwood’s
relentless energy and was able to ignore those intolerable feelings so
that he could be there for him until…the end.

“Hello, Colonel.”

He quickly looked over at the smiling nurse who had abruptly
interrupted his thoughts. He eyed her carefully as she checked all the
essential tubing that was keeping his friend alive.

“The general has been asking for you; he will be so happy to see
you,” she said quietly to him.

Still numbed by the sight of Westwood’s deteriorating condition,
Hager stared impassively at the smiling nurse, totally ignoring her
greeting. He watched as her beam faded and she went embarrassed
about her duties.

He glanced over and noticed Bruce Jacobs, the general’s long-time
attorney, standing, preoccupied, behind digital equipment on the
opposite side of the room. A smile appeared to Hager’s tight lips. That
was just like Westwood, he chuckled softly, to conclude his final chapter
by capturing his last hours on film.

His smile suddenly vanished and knitted-brows quickly framed
his icy-blue eyes when the memory of Emma Westwood infringed on
his thoughts.

Emma had been the general’s wife. She’d died a few years ago, and
their marriage had produced no children. His understanding that the
general’s bloodline would stop right there, was clear. There was no
one left to mourn Westwood, except for him.